Forgotten
by hansolofan
Summary: What made IndianaJones return to the tavern that night after he had left? extension of scene from Raiders, IndyMarion, R&R please!


This scene from Raiders is extremely fun to toy with! (Read **Come Back to Me,** also based on this scene)

Please review! It's excellent incentive for me to write more and faster and more indianajones stuff.

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Indiana Jones had never been one for such deep contemplation.

He trudged down the road, his worn leather boots sinking into the deep coat of snow. He pulled his large trenchcoat closer to himself, shivering slightly in the bitter cold. The expression on his face was uncharacteristically thoughtful and pensive. _Of course, one cannot actually have the luxury to come up with a proposal and manpower deployment and send it for vetting when arrows are flying at your face and you're desperately trying to avoid those little ridges on the floor that once touched release jet streams of scalding mercury. _

It was quiet and deserted in the streets of Nepal, and he found he appreciated it. People giving him space, the knowledge of a long stretch of road before he reached his motel…a long time to himself, to think.

She looked exactly as he remembered her, the same long, unruly, but surprisingly soft hair she had chosen to tame into braids, the same lips, those luscious, red ones that never failed to attract him, the same wide, easy smile, and he would never in a million years admit it to her, but it always melted his heart, the same deep brown eyes, that betrayed all her emotions, let him read her so easily…their reunion was exactly the same as how he had imagined countless times. Not that he expected the right hook, of course, but come to think of it, Marion would do such a thing. Her appearance was identical to the photo his father had mailed to him secretly, under specific orders not to by Abner, and that he had laminated and still kept, tucked away securely in his wallet.

It brought back so many forgotten memories.

He recalled Marcus's ominous words to him 'she's the least of your worries now, Indy,' and snorted under his breath. He had tried to believe that, tried to drum it into his head, repeated it like a mantra on the plane trip here, but somehow all it served to do was to dig up more memories of her, and that did not help at all.

**The first time they had met was at her house. She had been settled quite comfortably on the couch when he entered, and she started in shock when she saw him. 'Hi, is Abner around here?'**

**She looked up from her book briefly. 'He's out to run an errand, should be back in 15 minutes or so. Harriet!' she called, and their housekeeper spent some time insisting he had a drink, while Marion sat by and smiled wryly, observing him.**

**She scrutinised him intently. 'Did she just call you master Indiana?'**

**He leaned back in his chair. 'Yup,' He remembered thinking that she looked nothing like Abner, and in a t-shirt and a rather short skirt with her long hair twisted into a loose ponytail she was extremely attractive. 'You're Marion, Abner's daughter, I presume.'**

**She nodded. 'Abner never talks about his students.' She continued warily. 'What kind of name's Indiana, anyway?'**

**Spunky. Hmm. He liked that. 'A better name than one that belongs to my father.'**

**She smiled, and he was stunned. She must've been 16, 17, and that smile…whoa.**

**'War and Peace? Excellent book,' He commented, unwilling to let a chance of talking to her be wasted.**

**'Are you just being polite, or do you really like it?' she asked dismissively.**

**'I really like it! Honestly, why would I lie to you?' he leaned forward, offering her his most engaging smile. It didn't have the intended effect.**

**'I hate it. I'm only reading it cos Abner has bad taste, like you.'**

**'It's an excellent book! It's obviously meticulously researched and written , and all the characters are fully fleshed out and the language is flawless—' Indy started defensively, getting touchy. No one insulted his taste so bluntly and got away with it, much less an extremely attractive adolescent with an entirely disproportionate ego.**

**'It's utterly awful, absurdly bad! He introduces all these trifle plotlines that have absolutely nothing to do with the main flow of the story, and-'**

**Indy cut her off again heatedly. 'No, but that's where you're wrong. Those secondary plots serve to complement the main one, so-'**

**'It's not just those that make the book bad too! There're also-'**

**The door opened quietly and Abner stepped in. 'Children, children…' he said placatingly. They quietened down and Indy mouthed 'children?' disbelievingly at Marion, who rolled her eyes in Abner's direction.**

**'Now, I knew if you two came together that would happen.' He chuckled.**

**'It's not funny, Abner!' Marion glared at him. Indy wondered how such a mild-mannered archaeologist managed to create this person.**

**Abner? This girl was full of surprises.**

**When they parted, Indy lagged behind Abner, and gloated 'I'm still right!', to Marion, winked at her then left, leaving her absolutely flabbergasted.**

**That followed with Indy coming over an uncanny number of times to talk or spend time with her, one of their favourites being a game of poker, which both had a penchant and predilection for, and it amused both of them greatly. And at academic functions, Marion always made sure to tag along (after spending hours picking dresses and getting ready), looking absolutely gorgeous, so at some boring part they would sneak off to some discreet corner, Indy would very handily produce a stack of cards from his jacket pocket, and they would play for hours, until Abner came, livid, and dragged them out.**

**Once in the middle of an extremely enjoyable round, they heard heavy footsteps they instantly recognized as Abner's. He swore under his breath. Marion hurriedly gathered up the cards haphazardly and stuffed them unceremoniously into Indy's jacket pocket—he had to admit he felt a thrill as her hand brushed across his chest for the slightest moment—while Indy arranged the brooms and buckets they had used as upturned chairs. 'Quick, Marion,' he hissed, grabbing her hand and off they ran, through the labyrinth of corridors, flush with excitement. Indy burst through an unmarked door, then skidded, feeling himself fall and with a large splash felt water soak into his suit and flailed, spluttering. Marion had located the light switch and was laughing at him amusedly. He pushed his hair out of his face disgustedly.**

**'A swimming pool. Why the hell do they need one in a freaking museum?!'**

**Marion continued laughing uncontrollably. Indy waded towards the edge purposefully, a devilish glint in his eyes and Marion let out a shriek and ran around the perimeter. He caught up with her, dripping wet, and pushed her up against the wall, both of them laughing. Then, realizing Indy's hands were resting on her waist, and he wasn't moving it, and she actually enjoyed the feel of it…their faces were so close together, they stopped. He remembered hesitating, staring deep into her eyes. Then she parted her lips invitingly, looking so vulnerable and beautiful and inviting…and he kissed her.**

**Up til this day he found it difficult to pinpoint exactly why he left, a year later. Perhaps it was the invitation from the dean of the University of Chicago and recommendation from the head professor of the archaeology department to be the deputy head of an archaeological dig in Peru, under a renowned archaeologist his dad had worked with before and he admired immensely. Perhaps it was because he felt stifled, was yearning for adventure, that familiar feel of adrenaline coursing through his veins, that he had to give up for a year to study for his finals. Perhaps it was because he and Marion had made love numerous times, were extremely close, and somehow he couldn't imagine settling down with a girl and being bound in one place, not allowed to travel all over the world seeking precious artefacts, no matter how absolutely crazy and in love he was with her. Perhaps it was a combination, an unorthodox concoction of all those factors.**

**Regardless, he was a coward, and he knew it. He packed discreetly, not even informing Abner, had an awesome day together with Marion, coupled together with an equally awesome and tender night. Then the next day, he departed on the 09 00 to Lima.**

**He didn't even say goodbye.**

**Abner must've figured out sometime later, because a week after he had immersed himself in the recovery, tracing and dating of artefacts, he tore open a brown paper parcel to reveal an angry letter from Abner, and a well-worn stack of cards with evident water stains, and a dress. Abner wrote 'I **

**don't know what you have done to my daughter. She keeps this stack of cards almost religiously and once I caught her laying them out slowly on the floor and weeping. And she told me to burn this dress. Boy, I don't know why, but I want you to have it. Perhaps you can remember her with it, but you're not welcome back here at all'. Indy withdrew the dress, his breath shaky. She had worn it, the first time they had kissed, and it was a very pretty dress. It was dusty blue, tight around the waist, with straps around the shoulder, and the skirt flared out. It came down to Marion's knees, he remembered. It broke his heart to see it; it reminded him so much of Marion, and how much he loved her. How much he missed her. But he couldn't return, although he knew he had to apologize, wanted to feel her arms around him, her body pressed tight against him, see her smile. But this dig meant too much to him.**

**The next day, he slept with a random girl from the bar. He didn't even remember her name.**

He shoved his hands deep into his pocket.

He was back, but now it was like before. There was an archaeological find just within his reach, and she was second to that, once again. But was it not possible for him to have them both? She still loved him, he could tell from her eyes, the pain in her voice, the brilliance of her smile, and he definitely hoped he wasn't as transparent as her, but he loved her too. He always had.

He should apologize, at least.

He stopped in his tracks, pondered it heavily for a split second, then set off in a joy, speeding up as he retraced his steps.

When he takes in the scene, his breath catches in his throat and he ducks into the shadows quickly, ridding himself of the trench coat and loading his gun. He has always had impeccable timing. The apology had to wait.

...

When they come, she is frightened. She puts on a blasé, fearless veneer, but she is terrified. She is trembling as the man grabs her arms, her heart is thumping, she is perspiring profusely as the man lit the stick deliberately slowly, she struggles, shrinking back, as the man advances, clutching onto the edge on the table as if it is her only bearing to reality.

She has never felt this vulnerable since he left her.

When the flame is a mere inch away from her, and she can feel the dull heat of it as it flickers dangerously close to her, she squeezes her eyes shut, partially to prevent the tears, partially so they cannot see the fear. This is all your fault, Jones, she thinks, why don't you come here now, exactly when you're needed?

Then she hears the crack of a whip, the heat gone in an instant. Her eyes fly open in shock; she cannot believe it. He really is there. He commands them to 'give me the girl', and it somehow pleases her how possessive that sounds, how she really wouldn't mind being his. She smiles, his eyes meet hers, and they are so full of feeling, they tell her so much, that she is stunned. Then shots ring out, she ducks for cover, and the moment is forgotten.

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